


Adventure of the Red-Headed Girl

by TheDoctorsProtege



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: This is for thesherlockdiaries, it's a cliff hanger, it's really stupid and i dont know how to end it, its a sumission for a contest, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:05:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDoctorsProtege/pseuds/TheDoctorsProtege
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finds out he has a niece from NYC named Elizabeth Holmes and she's made a trip to London...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventure of the Red-Headed Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBBCSherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=TheBBCSherlock), [TheSherlockDiaries](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=TheSherlockDiaries).



> Yes, the title is referencing an actual work by Arthur Conan Doyle!
> 
> Please, if read, leave some feedback <3
> 
> Not sure if I should continue

John was up at the crack of dawn, the windows still misty with the dew of last night. Bakerstreet was barely crawling with life, as it seemed no one got up as early as John did on a Saturday mornings. Sherlock was still fast asleep in his bed, with his face in the pillow. John moved him to a more comfortable position. _You’re going to suffocate yourself one day_ … He thought to himself as he held Sherlock’s head in his hands.

There was a sharp rapping on the door downstairs. “This early?” John groaned. “Probably for Mrs. Hudson…” Mrs. Hudson was already awake at this hour, she got up a half an hour before John every day. He also just knew because he could smell the eggs and bacon she was cooking downstairs.

That reminded him. “Food” John whispered longingly as his stomach growled. John hadn’t eaten in two days, he was out on a case with Sherlock trying to figure out where the missing train ticket came into play for 5 different murders on the opposite sides of London. Sherlock’s last words to him yesterday were “John I figured it out, I’ll call Lestrade in the morning, it obviously was the orthodontist.” John never understood how Sherlock figured these things out, but he didn’t question it. He just went along.

John shuffled over to the kitchen and started to boil some water for morning tea. He was just about to turn the stove on when he heard the sharp rapping again, faster and harder this time. But it wasn’t on the street door. It was the door to the flat.

Startled, John quickly ushered over from the kitchen “Coming, coming!” he exclaimed excitedly. He opened the door with a rush, not half sure who he would find. A young girl with bright red hair stood on the top stair, with three bags of luggage, all the same coloured grey plaid with streaks of green and yellow. They matched her skirt, and her hat. She was a short girl, around 5”2, her hair reaching down to her lower back, and her eyes the colour of crystal clear water. “Co-come in..” John stammered. John had to take a second look at her after he let her into the flat and helped her with her bags.

The same colour as Sherlock’s eyes.

John asked her shyly.. “Might I know-“ But he was cut off.

 _“And who are you?”_ Sherlock snarled. He appeared leaning onto the wall that lead into the living room. His arms were crossed and he had the ‘I am superior to all of you’ look, which meant he was deducing all he could about the young girl.

_Not older than 15. Long trip. Tired. Hasn’t slept in 42 hours. Has a cat. No, two cats. New York accent, obviously American._

“Uncle!” the girl unexpectedly ran up the Sherlock, embracing him in a tight hug, and disturbing the deduction. Sherlock nearly fell backwards, holding his hands up in the air like he was about to get shot, his face like he just ate a lemon.

“Young lady, what exa-“ he was stopped in mid sentence.

“Mycroft, where is Mycroft?” she looked puzzled, as she released Sherlock haphazardly. She whirled around and looked at John. “Are you Mycroft?... Mother said you would be taller…” she looked at him, disappointed.

“I’m not Mycroft, I’m John Watson, a friend of Sherlock… Who are you?” John asked the red-headed girl.

“Me? Why, my name is Elizabeth Holmes, of course!” she exclaimed proudly, putting her hands on her hips and holding her head high. “You can call me Liz, if you want.”

“Yes, yes, all is good. Okay. Why are you HERE though?” Sherlock mocked, unfazed and doubting she was telling the truth.

“Because mother told me I had an uncle named Sherlock…” Liz looked at him with a hurt look.

“How exactly do you have any relation to me?” _Sherlock returned a cold look. She comes from a wealthy family, but she isn’t raised properly. American Obviously brought up there, no London fashion. No father figure in her life, raised by mother… Not actually mother, nanny. Nanny that became the mother figure in her life._

“Well…” she looked down at the floor and started to twiddle her thumbs. _Embarrassment._ “Well…. Mother called and told me I had an uncle in London, who I should visit for the summer.” Not the whole truth.

“Alright how about you-“ Sherlock put a hand under his chin, still deducing as much as he could.

The tea kettle whirred in the background, drawing everyone’s attention. “Would you please sit down, Elizabeth… Would you like some tea, both of you?” John asked earnestly. Elizabeth unknowingly took residence in Sherlock’s favourite chair. “Uhm, sure. Thank you Mr. Watson.” She said.

“No thank you, John.” Sherlock replied with an annoyed emphasis on the word ‘John’.

Sherlock didn’t like it when other people sat in his favourite chair, especially not ones who show up on a Saturday morning claiming to be distant relatives. He thought he would poke and prod at her for annoying him so early in the day.

“So, how is your mother?” Sherlock asked cruelly, with an undertone of sarcasm.

Elizabeth looked painfully disturbed, “Uhm… She.. She is quite well.” She looked down in order to avoided the view of Sherlock’s inquisitive eyes.

“No she isn’t.” Sherlock said, ready to show off his deducing skills. “You haven’t talked to your mother in a year. She left to go on an unplanned business trip, leaving you to your nanny who practically raised you. You never knew your mother, she was just a woman who didn’t care. Now, Liz, what is the _real_ reason you are here.” Sherlock said everything with the straightest face possible and with such a mumbled speed it was almost inaudible.

Liz faltered, her mouth hanging open slightly, unsure which question to ask first. “I.. How did you.. How did you know about my nanny?...” she stammered.

“The rings obviously. The one hanging around your neck is too small to wear, but the other one around your finger is too big. They were obviously not bought for you.

The one ring around your finger is old. The ring around your neck however is fairly new, which means it never belonged to you. The style ring around your finger dates back sixty years. It was cared for all those years, but the person who gave it to you wanted to get rid of it, something happened. Stopped polishing it… sixty year old ring, stopped polishing recently. Death of someone important in her life, maybe a husband of sorts. She gave it to you because she couldn’t bear to stand the memory of her dead husband… Sentiment.”

Liz looked at Sherlock, not quite sure how to feel about the truth he just spoken. He was right.

He continued, “but back to the smaller ring. It was given to you as a gift, obviously not the same person as the larger ring, that wouldn’t make sense, but someone ‘close’ enough to you to give you such a ring. Mother, sister. It wasn’t a sister however, because you were raised alone by your nanny. Your mother would have sent two of you to see me, not just one. But you rarely see your mother, don’t you. It was a going away present, the day she left on that unplanned business trip…. No… It was on your birthday, wasn’t it? She gave it to you for a birthday present and then told you she had to leave.” Sherlock smirked, proud of what he had said.

Elizabeth was almost in tears, partially from being stunned at how much this man knew, and partically from sadness. John quickly poured the teas and walked over to ease the tension, “Here is you tea, Liz.” He gave a stern look to Sherlock, Sherlock frowned.

“Now, how did you know about Mycroft?” He gave Liz a soft smile, while bobbing his tea bag up and down.

Liz looked at him much fonder than she looked at Sherlock.

“He is my father.”

\--------


End file.
